


Crowley's Melancholic Bathroom Musings

by Waffleknit_Narwhal



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Idiots in Love, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 07:27:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20671559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waffleknit_Narwhal/pseuds/Waffleknit_Narwhal
Summary: Crowley's been staying with Aziraphale for a couple days and this whole unrequited love thing is getting out of hand





	Crowley's Melancholic Bathroom Musings

Crowley was sopping wet, having just stepped out of the shower. 

"Shit," he said, searching for a towel. It's the second time in as many days and he can't figure out why Aziraphale wouldn't just keep his extra towels on a shelf in the bathroom rather than in the closet outside; forcing him to either make a quick hop outside the room, butt-ass naked, or to drip dry on the mat in the humid room. Casting around for any other recourse, he sighed, rolled his eyes, and opted for the latter. 

He'd been staying with his friend for the past couple nights because, as Aziraphale put it, "I'm still a bit traumatized by the whole Beelzebub carting you off to Hell thing and it would honestly make me feel lighter if you didn't leave my sight just yet, dear boy." 

Sure, his words had delighted Crowley in a way he wasn't quite ready to voice aloud yet, but he wasn't going to let on this was anything but a favor for the angel. Still...

He sighed and wiped down the mirror with a bare hand. He ran a hand through his hair, making it stand on end, then used both hands to form the ginger strands into a sort of mohawk that flopped over at the ends making his hair look like some sort of red tidal wave, or the fin of a sad killer whale. Crowley made a face at himself. Neither prospect was particularly cheerful. Of course, the position he'd placed himself in wasn't the most cheerful either. 

There was a time, a couple in fact, when Crowley had put forth an effort to be what he thought Aziraphale wanted. The angel had commented on the cut of a robe a woman had been wearing in early Nazareth and Crowley thought, why not? He hadn't been tied to the gender he'd been presenting up until that point, why not try something new? 

He'd found it freeing in a way. People didn't take as much notice of him. Of course, it was harder to get his demonic activities accomplished since he was no longer allowed in spaces he'd once been privy to. But then, it had been worth it to see Aziraphale's face light up when they'd stumbled upon each other in 33. If course it had been short-lived given the somber scene they witnessed. 

He didn't admit to himself that Nanny Ashtoreth was just a last ditch effort to get his attention before everything was blown to hell, or blown to heaven really. Whichever side won. 

He rubbed his cheek and felt the previous day's stubble. He really missed the shoes. And the hats. On a bad day, when the angel was being rather obtuse, he used to don his favorite hat, the one with the little net veil and crow feathers, then the black leather boots with just the right amount of heel, and a killer dress that made his ass to die for. He looked like a school marm playing dominatrix and it fucking rocked.

He had been sure Aziraphale would make a move, or at least give some inkling that he was interested in something besides friendship, especially since they'd been thrown together for eleven years. They got to see each other every day. Crowley had been ecstatic.

He'd leave presents for the angel, like the cakes he'd hunted all of the country for. They had been made with the best ingredients by an aging man and his wife in a shop by the sea. He'd ordered one of every flavor and left them in a box on a bench in the garden shed with a small tag with a simple snake motif.  
He'd watched as the angel found the box, opened it with a confused look, then gasped as he lifted one of the small confections for inspection. He took a bite and pure bliss covered his face. Crowley heard the moan of appreciation, felt his face get hot, and decided it was best to leave before he was affected further. 

He'd do things like that hoping, just hoping Aziraphale would get the hint. He'd always known it was a long shot, pining after someone on the other side.

In any case it didn't work. Crowley was either too chicken shit or too subtle for Aziraphale to get the hint and he wasn't about to put himself out there only to be rejected by the only being who'd ever been there for him. He'd rather remain friends; not mess up the good thing they already had going.

He rummaged around a tray of pins and rings kept opposite the sink. There was a lovely green stone in one. Emerald perhaps? Crowley slipped it on one finger and smiled sadly. He gave himself a moment then slipped it back off and dropped it in the tray. 

He did enjoy the punk/goth/oh-let's-face-it-dumbass look he was currently sporting, though. There was considerably less upkeep for one. No more long hair routine in the morning. Just toss some product in it and run his fingers through. No more bras. That in and of itself was a reason to keep this presentation of his efforts male. And he didn't HAVE to keep shaving his legs but he found he liked the look and feel.  
He looked down at his nails. The black polish was starting to chip. He sighed. There was a bottle of polish remover and cotton balls and a bottle of black nail polish back at his flat. If he was home he could have been fixing them rather than absently picking at the edges. 

Looking around the tiny room again he wondered if he could pat himself dry with what was left of the toilet paper roll. Of course, if it was the wrong kind he could end up with lint pieces all over his body. Surely the indulgent angel would buy the better quality paper rolls? He shook his head. Better not to risk it. Aziraphale was likely still asleep anyway so it wasn't like he was monopolizing the room unfairly. 

He cracked the door slightly and listened for any sign his friend was awake. It let some of the stream waft out from the humid room and he froze, afraid of being caught out. Glancing across a counter he could see the silent, still form of his friend in the bed. 

He'd sat on that bed once. Only once. After that, feeling himself sink into the mattress like it was going to envelope him, he purposely avoided touching it as much as possible. The images it brought to his mind were too much temptation.

Breathing in the cool air he was reminded of another cool night. He'd saved the books in that church because, well, because he knew they meant something to Aziraphale. There was no use denying it to himself. The look on his face had been reward enough. He didn't need his friend's constant adoration, just the look that had been on the angel's face once a century or so. He could live off that. 

Nearly all the steam had been let out of the bathroom so Crowley carefully and quietly shut the door again. A few clothing items swung on the door rack. A scent lingered in the air tickling his nose.  
He hesitated momentarily, wondering if this was a step too far. Still, it was hard to resist once the idea was in his head.  
Slowly, the demon reached out a hand, grasping the shirt that hung from its collar. The material was smooth cotton, an off-white. He rubbed it between his fingers letting the feeling sink in. Lifting it off the hook with his other hand, he saw, where only the wearer would know it existed, thin tartan tape on the inside of the button placket, more lining the inside of the cuffs, and another thin tape inside the collar. He smiled and brought the shirt to his nose. Inhaling the warm, slightly musty scent, ah that was the bookshop coming through, Crowley closed his eyes and let himself imagine for just a moment, one moment, what it would be like to be surrounded by this scent daily. To wake up to his nose buried in it. To fall sleep with it breathing softly by his side. Tears pricked his eyes and he blinked, carefully hanging the shirt back where it belonged. Away from him. 

He'd nearly dried. There were just a few damp bits here and there and those would sort themselves out well enough once he got dressed. He pulled on his black jeans, t-shirt, and vest, leaving the vest to hang open then shoved his sunglasses on his face. He knew now he was never going to impress Aziraphale so why put in all the effort?  
Catching his reflection in the mirror one last time he saw his hair still resembled the fin of a maritime creature from a 90s children's movie. Reaching up with both hands he mussed it until it looked more like a birds nest with volume. Shrugging and rolling his eyes he took one more look around the room and turned the handle. He'd be leaving back to his own flat that day. This was enough torture.

"Crowley, is that you?" came a sleepy voice from the bed.

"Who else would it be, angel?" Okay, that came out a bit more surly than he'd intended. 

Aziraphale laughed, sitting up in the bed. "Of course, darling. Up early are we?"

Crowley shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned against the counter trying to look cool. The effect was ruined by the grey socks he wore, covered in house plants. "I think I'll head back to my place today. Got a few things to do."

Aziraphale's face faltered then he smiled brightly. "Oh! Do you need to pick up a few things? I could help."

"No!" Crowley's hand shot up of its own volition. He stared at it then quickly pulled it back. Aziraphale watched him with brows knit together. "I think I just need some alone time today."

"Alright dear." He picked at the coverlet for a moment. 

Crowley stared at his socks. Damn things. He never felt properly intimidating in them, but they were one of the few things the angel had actually given him.  
It had been a few years previous. Aziraphale had been steadily killing the plants on the Dowling estate when Crowley stepped in. Not that he cared if his friend killed acres of petunias or if the entire English countryside looked like 1930's Oklahoma. It was just annoying seeing such meager lifeforms disrespect someone he... admired so much.

"I'm sorry dear," Aziraphale interrupted his thoughts, "but have I done something I oughtn't?"

Now it was Crowley's turn to look confused "What?" 

"It's just," he slid off the bed and approached the demon slowly, "I thought we were finally... you know." 

"Finally what?"

Aziraphale sighed in exasperation. "You're going to make me say it aren't you?"

Crowley tilted his head down to stare over the rim of his sunglasses. "Angel, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Do you want the bed?" He gestured behind himself. " I had had other plans but you can have the whole thing to yourself if you'd like."

"What are you going on about?" Crowley half muttered.

"Oh! The towels!" He rushed past Crowley and filled his arms with several. "I'll put them in the bathroom for you!" 

"Angel," Crowley said in a warning tone.

Aziraphale rushed on, dropping the towels and running into the kitchen. "I've got another bottle of that red you like so much, and I know you're not usually one for eating, but I've found a cheese that pairs with it nicely!"

"Angel."

"And ah, the plants!" He rushed over to a corner in the living room "I, I think they'd look nice over here, don't you?"

"AZIRAPHALE!"

Aziraphale turned slowly back to Crowley, catching a spark of hellfire in his gaze.

"Now," Crowley huffed, "What exactly is going on?"

The angel looked pained and the words tumbled out of his mouth in a rush, "I don't want you to leave!" 

"You don't want me to leave," Crowley repeated flatly.

"Please. I know it's small, and it smells musty because of all my books, and I get snappish sometimes," Crowley raised an eyebrow, "Alright, most of the time. But really dear boy, Crowley, please don't go."

This was too much. He needed to get out. He couldn't breathe. The early morning sunshine streaming in through the windows, the look on Aziraphale's face, his scent. It was going to take him weeks to wash that scent out of his clothes, that is, if he didn't just downright burn them in order to get some sleep. He turned to the door.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale's anguished cry stopped him in his tracks.

Crowley turned back with an anger born of frustration and unresolved tension. "I don't live here Aziraphale!"

"Well you should!" The angel gasped bringing a hand to his mouth as if he couldn't believe he'd uttered the words. 

Crowley took three strides across the apartment and grabbed the front of his nightshirt, shoving him up against the shelves. "What did you just say?"

Aziraphale took a deep breath, closing his eyes. "I thought it was obvious when I told you my bed was big enough for two." Crowley stared. "I did find it odd you didn't bring any of your things over."

Crowley drew in a slow breath looking down. "You're saying... that when you asked me to stay... you meant," he looked up and pinned the angel with his gaze, "permanently?!"

"Well," he shrugged and nodded, "yes."

Crowley's head dipped down but his fists stayed balled in Aziraphale's shirt. His shoulders shook and when he looked up again his eyes were shining with mirth. Aziraphale matched his smile nervously. 

"We are both so, so very dumb," Crowley said. He watched the angel's confused face turn clear with a sigh and a smile. Loosening his grip on his shirt Crowley leaned in slowly, giving Aziraphale every chance to run away. When he didn't he tentatively touched their lips together, still afraid any sudden movements would shatter this reality into a million pieces. 

Aziraphale's hands slid up his back, kneading into his shoulders, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss. A startled moan escaped Crowley's mouth and Aziraphale pulled back.

"I take it that's a yes?" He stared into Crowley's eyes, which were visible now that his sunglasses had slipped down his nose.

The demon nuzzled their noses together taking in a deep breath. "Yes."

The angel glanced around at his flat nervously. "And you don't mind that I'm a bit messy, and that your plants will have to share their space with my books, and-"

Crowley cut him off with a hand over his mouth. "Angel," he said leaning close, "it's absolutely tickety-boo." 

Taking his hand off his best friend's mouth, he couldn't hold back any longer. Pressing their lips together once again, Crowley swept his tongue into Aziraphale's mouth, after which neither was capable of coherent thought.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! 💙💙💙


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